


Late at Night

by HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: ADHD, ADHD Character, Mark Cohen is a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 21:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind/pseuds/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind
Summary: It was late again, Mark had lost count of how many late nights he had pulled.





	Late at Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transmarkcohen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transmarkcohen/gifts).



> Hhhhhh this is another addition to my “Mark Cohen is struggling with working” series. (Is this basically the only thing I write? Yes. Will I stop? Probably not)

It was late again. He didn’t know how late, after staying up so much Mark had realized that taking a look at his watch just meant he would feel even worse about staying up. 

This has become a routine. He would promise Roger not to stay up late again, wait until his roommate was sound asleep and then Mark would get out of his bed and sit by his desk. He hated these moments. They were dreadful to sit through, but even worse when his alarm went off at 6 a.m. every morning. He could barely remember last time he got more than 5 hours of sleep on a weekday. Every week was just a countdown to the next weekend so he could sleep enough again. (Of course half the time there would be some fucking car outside that got the alarm triggered at 5 a.m. or a garbage truck making the loudest noises with the metal trash cans)

It was never intentional, it just happened. Sometimes it was because his productivity was skyrocketing and he was working so much and so quickly that time seemed to disappear. Most times it wasn’t like that thought. Most times it was the complete opposite. He would sit for hours on head scrambling through his own mind, desperately trying to find something of significance, something he could use to develop his film or his screenplay. But there was nothing. 

His brain felt like it was simultaneously empty and filled with concrete. It felt heavy and it was weighing him down, yet it felt like there was only air floating around in there. The need and want to get an idea out was so strong he couldn’t let himself go to bed, not yet anyway. 

When Mark felt like this, not only was he unable to work, he was unable to do anything. He couldn’t watch his favorite movies or cartoons because he would just zone out. The same happened if he tried to read, he would read page upon page and then realize he hadn’t picked up on a single thing that happened in the book. He could read the same sentence over and over again, a million times, and still not understand anything. 

Zoning out was weird, it could happen for minutes or for hours and he had no idea how long it was each time. Mark could be sitting alone by his desk, thinking for hours, but when brought back to reality he wouldn’t be able to recall a single thing he was thinking about. He didn’t feel like he had a train of thought, it felt more like the messiest most complex roller coaster in his mind. Frantically jumping and swaying from one thought to another, and then, out of nowhere. It would stop. 

He didn’t know when or why it happened. The reason always changed. Sometimes it was because he had to make a decision. Sometimes it was because the task he was doing was too hard. Sometimes it was because he had been doing so much throughout the day and he was tired. Sometimes the task was too easy and he simply got bored. And sometimes, well frankly, sometimes he had no idea whatsoever. 

His brain felt like a machine just constantly making white noise. He felt like someone had placed a static TV inside of him and let it sit there for hours. If he could only make the noise stop, if he could only get a bit of inspiration back. 

Maybe BuzzLine wasn’t the reason for his burnout after all. He knew he had felt like this before, but blaming it on something that wasn’t himself seemed easier than to face that there was actually something wrong. He had felt good about quitting, of course he would still hate to sell out and work for a huge company, he thought quitting would make this stop and it didn’t. Deep down though, maybe he knew it would still be there.

Even now, when the whole city of New York was sleeping, Mark’s mind was messy and loud and empty, all at the same time. God knows how long he had been sitting here, clicking his pen and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He wished he didn’t feel like this. He needed everything to be quiet, yet the only time everything was quiet he was so tired he couldn’t get himself to do anything. Staying up late was an evil circle of losing sleep, and losing his brain in the process. 

He felt so pathetic. How could he sink so low as to not being able to write anything down. How stupid could he be not to be able to do what he loved the most. How could he go from being so productive and inspired to this empty mess. His mom would probably say something along the lines of him being a schmuck and that he just needed to get himself together. Jesus Christ, if it only were that easy. 

He needed this to end, he needed this to end so badly. No matter how hard he tried and how many people he talked to, he had no idea how to stop.


End file.
